The evening settles like a worn blanket, thick and comforting. Morning calls are hushed as if the world has forgotten its obligations.
Outside, a gentle rustle—like a memory trying to speak. The shadows, they have their stories; silent, solemn. Stand witness.
In this space, hear the lullabies of the night. Not from the lips of stars or the embrace of the moon, but from the quiet strength of shadows. They sing not for you, not for me, but for themselves.
Static lullabies, real as the shadows themselves, weave through the air, unspoken but felt, like the rhythm of a distant ocean.
Close your eyes. Let the night take over, the gentle hold of reality bending into realms unknown, yet somehow familiar.